


Mother Knows Best

by wackytackysocks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blade Of Marmora (Voltron) - Freeform, Canon Universe, Eventual Keith/Lance (Voltron), Eventual Lotor/Allura (Voltron), Fluff, Keith's Sacrifice to be Mentioned, Krolia and Keith Bonding, Loose Ends Tied Up, Mother and Son Dynamics, Slow Burn, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wackytackysocks/pseuds/wackytackysocks
Summary: EXCERPT:“You don’t need to thank me,” she says, smiling. Keith can’t help but feel a warmness at the sight of her face. It’s the first time he’s seen his mother smile, and it’s just for him. “I owe you so much more, Keith. Every moment we have together, I will do my best to make up for the years we’ve lost.”He takes a moment to mull it over.After all these years of hoping, of hurting, he couldn’t wish for anything more than that. He’s not completely ready to forgive her, but her effort alone is what drives Keith to say, “I think I’d like that.”NOTE:Abandoned and discontinued! Season five has long since passed, and I'm rather unhappy with how this work turned out. Thank you all for reading and considering this fan work!





	1. The Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction! I appreciate any critique/comments on the writing, any feedback is good feedback. I'll be using she/her pronouns for Pidge, and the focus will mostly be on fleshing out the characters: providing a good arc for Hunk, Clone Shiro/Kuro/Kuron, and dynamics between Keith and his mother is my priority over ships. It will essentially serve as a continuation of season five.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! I'll try and update weekly. Estimated chapter count will hopefully be around the twenties?

»»————-　　————-««

"You’re my…?”

Genuinely and truly, Keith finds that he can’t finish the sentence - or, more realistically, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to. It’s beyond obvious, in all honesty: he’s surprised he hadn’t noticed earlier, when Krolia had sworn that she wouldn’t leave him a second time. Perhaps it was because he had grown so used to abandoning his hopes, as hoping had proven to only be harmful in the past.

Just the same, Krolia doesn’t see a need to finish his sentence. All she provides him with is a deadpanned, “Yes,” and nothing further. Silence ensues, and Keith resumes his spot on the pilot’s chair in the cockpit. What was expected, anyways? For Keith to come crying into his mother’s arms? No. She’d abandoned him - she’d left him, and Keith’s not about to trust someone who's capable of breaking his heart yet again. He needs time to process.

So, obviously, the flight is rather… awkward. The two are in stalemate, and it’s roughly thirty doboshes later that one of the pair gives in.

“Where do you intend to fly to, Keith?” Asks the woman - his.. mother, Keith thinks, with distaste. He deigns her with a brief glance, turning away from the controls to give her an inquisitive look, one eyebrow curved upwards underneath his tousled bangs.

“Uh… to headquarters? Where else?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Keith frowns sharply at this, eyes squinted at her. “You don’t think so? Listen.. Krolia - I know you had some sort of standpoint in the empire, but that cover’s blown. I’ve got a failed mission to report, and you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Krolia folds her arms tightly, hands resting on her upper arms. A challenging gaze washes over her features. “Kolivan is someone I’m rather well acquainted with, Keith. Though his intentions are honorable, his standards are not. Disregard my previous absence for a moment, son, and know that I will not stand for your participation with the Blades,” she says, voice stern and grave. “You are not needed there. We shall find somewhere else.”

The younger of the Galrans present is quiet for quite a few ticks, unable to speak. There was so much wrong with every word, every syllable that Krolia had the gall to voice. Thankfully for her, she continues.

"And before you undoubtedly protest against my word, know this: I understand that my disappearance is... unacceptable. I know that you find it hard to listen to the commands of someone you do not know. However, I speak to you as a comrade in this moment. A peer. Kolivan will not give you the emotional freedom you require. He does not view you as any more than a pawn in this game - in this fight for freedom."

Turning away from her, Keith inhales sharply, letting it out in a slow sigh through his nose. Breathe. His fingers curl around the controls, flexing. Focus. Think. Or, perhaps thinking is something he should avoid: after all, he's not quite ready to accept the crushing weight of that fact that his mother is here - that she's alive. He has a thousand questions, and yet another thousand reasons as to why he shouldn't trust any answer Krolia grants him.

"I can't believe it," Keith mutters, shaking his head slowly. He gives a bark of a laugh, one that sounds rather brief and harsh. "You've abandoned me. You've ruined this mission. And now you're telling me to drop out of a place where I'm finally useful? Where I can do something - be someone? I fucked up all of my chances at succeeding in the Galaxy Garrison, and we all know that I'm not needed in Voltron," says Keith, voice bitter, and hands grasping the ship's controls in a vice grip. To Krolia, much of his little spiel is... difficult to understand. The Galaxy Garrison? She has no knowledge of the place. Voltron? Yes, now that she can put a face to a name, she's able to recognize him as the infamous Red Paladin. As for his cursing? She vaguely considers scolding him for insensitive wording, but seems to know better after thinking twice.

After a few beats, quieter, fainter, Keith adds: "This is - it's my last shot."

"No, Keith. It isn't," comes Krolia's immediate reply. Arms still folded tight, she takes a few steps towards the pilot's chair, resting a hand on the back of the seat. "As long as you're alive - as long as Galra blood runs in your veins - you will keep fighting for what you believe in. This, I can tell. My only question for you is this: do you believe in letting yourself die?"

He doesn't need more than a few seconds to consider. "For the greater good of the mission?" Keith looks out across the expanse of stars before him, eyes tired and distant. "Yeah."

"Let me rephrase," voices his mother, a dull scowl etched across her face. "Keith, do you wish to die?"

"No."

Keith glances back at her, an unreadable look in his eyes. The words are out of his mouth faster than he can think. Does he believe that Voltron no longer needs him, that they don't require his presence? Yes. Does he want to die before he can see their faces again? God, no. He might be willing to give the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good of the universe, but he's not going to jump at the prospect of throwing his very existence away.

"Then trust me." And, against all odds, Keith does. A part of him gravely longs for some sort of familial connection, and thus, that part of him wins against his better judgement, exploiting what's left of his faint hope.

Exhaling slowly once more, Keith closes his eyes in thought for a few heavy ticks, before setting his gaze and twisting his features into a stony look. "Suppose I leave," he says, a frown ghosting over his mouth, lips downturned. "Where do you think we're going to go, exactly? I don't have money. I don't have a home: and I'm not giving up this fight. Not yet."

Krolia begins suggesting, "Your fellow paladins-" "No," her son blatantly interrupts. She seems taken aback by this.

"Graces, is that the only word you know? Your place among them is where you shine the brightest, Keith. I've seen you in action, and so have they. Make your way to their base of operations: if you don't wish to stay, then we will leave after gathering sufficient supplies," says the woman, stubbornly. "And a night of sleep, for the sake of our health," Krolia adds, exhaustion truly showing through her features.

"They don't need me there," Keith grunts, equally as stubborn.

Like mother like son, Krolia supposes, as she retorts, "And what makes you think that the Blades do? I reinstate, Keith: you are another pawn that Kolivan is willing to extinguish. Besides, as I've said, we need only spend a day there. Any final decisions can and will be made afterwards."

They fly in silence for a few more moments. Enough time has passed for Krolia to step back and lean against a nearby wall in the ship. But she has confidence in herself: Keith greatly reminds Krolia of her times as a youngling, and she's certain he will cave with just the right amount of logic. He does, to his own surprise. Maybe it's the faint ache to see the others again: Shiro, Hunk, Coran, Lance, Pidge, Allura - Hell, even the mice. Or maybe it's that part of him that's so susceptible to the mere fact this his mother is alive and... well, in the future, perhaps he’ll even able to cultivate a relationship with her.

Either way, with some time, Keith moves to pull up a star map on the HUD of the windshield, setting coordinates for the Castleship. A rebellious look flashing in his eyes, Keith mentally prepares himself to see his old friends in person for what may be the first time in months. No need to get mentally attached, though. They’d only be staying a day: this, he’s sure of.

»»————-　　————-««

As it turns out, the trip isn’t an immediate shot to the castleship.

 

Keith should’ve expected that, honestly. The Galran fighter ship was built for quick and easy maneuvering in a battlefield, not for long-distance traveling. Thus, the pair resume their awkward silence. For hours. He’s perfectly fine with comfortable silence, and greatly despises small-talk, but this? This is just… weird.

So, Keith gives in. He’s got enough questions sitting on his chest, anyways. The young man turns away from the controls - as they’re set on autopilot - looking towards Krolia with a determined look on his features.

“Did you work with them?”

The woman glances up from her spot on the flooring of the ship, looking towards her son with a curious, blank sort of gaze. She’s taken to sitting, after all the time that had passed, polishing the blood off her blaster with the sleeve of her under armor. “With who, Keith?”

Both of their expressions seem to be in an odd equilibrium of confusion and angst. Call it the Kogane look. He elaborates, “The Blades - you said you knew Kolivan well. Was that why you came to Earth? Because of a mission?”

At this, Krolia hums thoughtfully, brows furrowing down, and back straightening to attention. “Yes, in a vague sense, that is what led me to return to Earth. Yet, at the same time, it isn’t,” she says, frowning thoughtfully.

He scoffs, “What does that mean?”

“Allow me to explain: during my mission on Earth, I was not with the Blades. I was with the empire,” says the woman, eyes flickering down from his gaze. She seems to immediately sense that Keith stiffens at this.

“What?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice - escaping my roots in the empire was not a viable option. During a mission to locate the Lions of Voltron, I was able to pass upon the Red Lion,” says Krolia, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She tucks her feet behind her, faintly reminding Keith of how he often sits. “Luckily, I was only searching as a lone scout. No fleet. No monitors. I spent a good while on Earth, before deciding that I wouldn’t be the one to turn in the Red Lion.”

Keith seems placated by this: he can understand that she didn’t have much of a choice. “So… that’s where you found…” he paused, taking a beat to think, “...Dad?”

“Yes. Where I found your father - and you. And where I contacted the Blades,” she says, gaze downcast. Her stony facade fades away, replaced by guilt and regret.

However, Krolia refuses to confide in her son on how she feels. She will not be giving him an excuse, nor a sob story. Simply an explanation. “They couldn’t have a soldier from the empire there, not with the Red Lion. It would be too easy to find, and it was too much of a risk to bring you into a warzone. I had to leave you, Keith, and it was the greatest mistake of my life.”

At this, Keith turns his gaze back onto the stars, teeth gritted, brows pinched together. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before making your first mistake,” he grits out, voice nearly shaking in a growl.

“What do you mean?”

His voice raises sharply, incredulously yelling, “Your first mistake!” Keith takes a pause to stand abruptly, the material of his suit squeaking as he clenches his fists. His face twists in rage. “Me!”

Krolia is taken aback, yellow-and-purple eyes widening significantly. She isn’t startled by his voice, no - only by the fact that he so strongly believes that he has no worth. The woman feels a deep pain for her son, and simultaneously, a deep regret. She hadn’t stayed. She hadn’t given him the opportunity to realize how valuable he is.

“Keith,” she begins, voice soft, and heavy with remorse. Krolia attempts to retain her composure, tone remaining confident and stern, yet low in volume. “You are so far from a mistake. You are what made me realize that, no matter what the risk, that it was worth fighting for freedom. That it was worth fighting to love you. Everything I’ve strived for, every moment I’ve sacrificed without you,” she says, pausing for only a moment, “is to be here with you now.”

Frozen in silence, Keith works down the lump building in his throat. In all honesty? He’s known this woman for a few hours, and she’s the first person to say something like this to him. Sure, the paladins provided a few empowering words and the likes, but the sheer emotion put into his mother’s words knocks him off balance.

He really can’t help the tears springing to his eyes: Keith knows Krolia will scent them immediately, but he’s surprised to find that she keeps a respectful distance, a concerned look on her features.

“We may speak on it more later, Keith, there is no rush. I know that his must be rather difficult for you to take in. Think of this moment as a summary, or a short answer.”

Rubbing furiously at his eyes, he nods simply. The Blade isn’t sure what to say, so he murmurs a simple, “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she says, smiling. Keith can’t help but feel a warmness at the sight of her face. It’s the first time he’s seen his mother smile, and it’s just for him. “I owe you so much more, Keith. Every moment we have together, I will do my best to make up for the years we’ve lost.”

Standing, Krolia tentatively moves over, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Keith doesn’t fully look up, simply glancing towards her from the corners of his eyes, peripheral vision trained on her.

“We don’t need to rush. You don’t need to forgive me right away,” mumbles the woman, a strangely gentle tone seeping into her voice. “But I would certainly like to start as friends. What do you say?”

He takes a moment to consider.

After all these years of hoping, of hurting, he couldn’t wish for anything more than that. He’s not completely ready to forgive her, but her effort alone is what drives Keith to say, “ “I think I’d like that.”

»»————-　　————-««

As it turns out, it’s rather late when they dock on the hangar bay. Keith had checked the time, and raised a sharp eyebrow at the clock. Yeah, best not to wake anyone up by pinging them with news of their arrival.

Worst idea ever.

Honestly, he should’ve thought better - of course flying straight into their fucking flight deck is going to set of alarms. Of course using a Galran fighter ship was going to wave about ten thousand different red flags.

Krolia seems to be thinking the same thing as she flashes Keith a disappointed look. They’ve just walked down the gangplank, shooting their hands up in surrender when they’re surrounded by five very tired looking paladins, four of which are suited up in armor.

“Drop your - drop… your, uh, weapons?” Lance has his blaster pointed on the woman who had previously been descending the ramp of the Galran ship, tired eyes squinted at her. “Woah-ho, pretty lady. I mean - who the heck are you?”

“I go by the name of Krolia, a semi-independent spy for the resistance. I bring with me the pilot of our fighter ship, Keith, an agent of the Blades, and, as I understand, your fellow paladin.”

That seems to grab the attention of the group.

“Keith?” Voices Pidge, who curiously glances around Krolia. Sure enough, Keith steps out from behind the woman, eyebrows raised.

For a moment, everyone is frozen in silence. Keith looks nervous, shifting on his feet, and rubbing the back of his neck in an anxious manner.

“Sorry. We didn’t really -” “Keith!”

Lance is the first to let his bayard clatter to the floor, bolting up the gangplank with a fierce intention of bowling him over. Pidge follows suit, endless energy fueling her feat, with Hunk and Coran following right behind the former.

So, that’s how Keith finds himself trapped in yet another group hug, a weak smile tugging up on his features. Shiro eventually wanders over to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and soon, they’re all pulling back and bombarding him with questions.

“Sooo, how’s the secret agent business?” Questions Hunk, followed by Pidge’s prompting, “Have they been treating you well?” And, of course, Lance’s curious and suave, “So, who’s the babe?”

In all honesty, Keith has enjoyed his time fighting alongside the Blades. They’ve given him a home, purpose, and food. That’s all he really needs right now: and besides, it’s not like the Galrans are heartless. He’s made a few friends. They’ve just… for the most part, died. His heart sinks at the thought, recalling the fresh feeling of watching the people around him drop like flies.

Therefore, when he speaks, it’s not a complete lie. “Good. And, uh, yes. Things are fine.” Keith pauses to give a pointed glare towards Lance, a spasm of anger and disgust contorting his face, inspired by Lance’s last question.

“Really, Lance? That’s my fucking mother!”

Silence follows his little outburst. Keith would’ve liked to keep that information private until the morning, at least, but he couldn’t stand Lance’s incessant, obsessive flirting. Christ, he really does flirt with anything on two legs.

“Listen, we just… need some rest, okay? Can we stop with all the questions for now?” He says, extraordinary tense. Keith is tired and, quite literally, emotionally shaken. It’s too much for one day. The ex-paladin lingers a moment longer, before swallowing harshly, and leaving the hangar bay. No one dares to follow after him: as he said, he needs time, and sleep.

Thus, there they stand, the paladins, Alteans, and Krolia sharing equal amounts of discomfort in the silence that ensues.

Lance is the first to break the quiet, of course, looking towards Keith’s mother with a guilty look on his face. “Uh, sorry, Mrs. Kogane. Ms. Kogane? Yeah, uh…” He winces, raises his eyebrows, and whispers out another, “Sorry.”

“Please,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Krolia is fine as it is.”

At this, Lance flashes two hands gesturing a thumbs-up at her, nodding slowly and muttering a drawn out, “Coooool. Awesome. Anyways, I’m gonna catch up on some sleep. Don’t wanna be off guard for the tag-team grumps,” says Lance, who manages a soft laugh, before skittering after where Keith had left. Hunk and Pidge are quick to follow with similar murmurs of excuse.

“I’ll show you to a room, Krolia,” says Shiro, a hopeful smile on his face. This inspires an endearing look of her own to show upon Krolia’s face, who replies, “Thank you. I could certainly use the shut-eye.”

»»————-　　————-««


	2. Enter: Training Sequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith catch up over some morning-time training. Very basic interactions thus far: I have a lot planned for the future!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Phew, I spent most of today doing this, honestly. I was really shocked at all of the positive feedback, and tried to crank a new one out. Thank you for your comments and kudos! It means a lot to me. I'm really happy you guys like it thus far!
> 
> If you want to say hello, my Tumblr is: https://artboyellie.tumblr.com/

»»————-　　————-««  
  
As morning rises, so does Keith, biological clock unwavering. It’s been rather difficult accommodating to the interstellar standard of time, but he’s managed: after all, Earth hours are only based upon rotations. In space, days last for roughly thirty hours, as Allura had insisted. It’s mind boggling, however simple it may seem, and thus, most of the Paladins use Earth clocks to measure time. Or, in Keith’s case, his body works fine enough.

His day begins as they always do: a quick shower, hair-brushing, and a once-over in the mirror. Keith can’t help but feel anxious, not used to this level of comfort. With the Blades, he hadn’t had the luxury of privacy. Washing, sleeping… both were done in either the public restroom, or the bunkers. Even then, shrieking alarms awoke him and his teammates more often than not, leaving his eyes dark and circled. Dragging a hand down his face and huffing softly, he turns to leave the space of his restroom, setting out for his clothes.

What should he wear around here, anyways? With the aid of a button panel, Keith opens the small space of his closet, located inside a wall, greeted by the sight of his measly wardrobe.

In the corner of the closet are various pieces to his Paladin armor. No, parading about in that little get-up isn’t going to be welcomed. He’s no longer a part of Voltron. It would just be… awkward.

Not the armor.

On a hanger are various pieces of his old outfit, leggings and shirt draped across the clothes rack. What good is training in that going to do?

Negative for the old clothes.

He briefly considers simply suiting up in just the under armor of his Paladin suit, but decides against it. Marmora uniform it is. He hasn’t fully agreed to leaving the group yet, anyhow. What’s the harm in wearing something he’s comfortable in?

The uniform works just fine.

Dressed, clean, and somewhat well rested, the boy finally exits his old room, head twisting about to check the hallway. Clear. He’d rather avoid interacting with anyone until necessary. After all, he has a significant amount of explaining to do. Which, if he’s being perfectly honest, he’d rather not do. The Paladins are probably expecting some catching-up, too. Both sound like horrible options.

Nearly an hour later, Keith is hammering away at the Gladiator, the clang of his luxite blade against the cold metal of the automaton ringing out across the training deck. It’s this familiar noise that draws Lance in, ruining any hope for further privacy that Keith had seemed so intent on.

Upon his arrival, Keith narrows his eyes, huffing out a sharp, “Pause training sequence.”

“Oh, by all means, don’t stop ony account,” says Lance, rolling his eyes and flashing a smile. Keith supposes it’s his attempt to lighten the mood, but it only deepens the Blade’s scowl.

“What do you want, Lance?”

A borderline cynical scoff is Lance’s response, followed by, “ _Pssh_ , jeez, Keith, not everything has to be about you. Don’ want anything from you, just gotta train. Y’know, like a responsible Paladin. Of which I _am_.”

A mocking smirk pulls up the corners of Keith’s lips, one dark eyebrow curved upwards. “Since when have _you_ been responsible?”

“Hey! I’m doing my best here, Kogane, that’s responsible enough.”

At this, Keith shrugs, muttering a simple, “Fair enough.”

“What was that?”

As if there aren’t enough reasons for Keith to return to the Blades. Why did he think Lance would be any different? “I _said_ that your reasoning was _fair enough_. What, is it illegal for me to abate from our bickering? I’m really not in the mood.”

Lance looks somewhat surprised at that: if not from his mature standpoint, then from the fact that he’d used such an odd word. Maybe he’d gotten that from the Blades - the Galrans seem to talk in a very official manner.

“Alright, alright, cool it, mullet. Listen, the only reason I’m up this early is for group training, okay? Happy?”

From his words, Keith grins coyly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Knew it,” he murmurs, eradicating all thoughts that he’d matured over his months of absence. Following this, however, the elder’s face displays a look of faint horror. “Wait, _group_ training? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Group training,” Lance agrees, with a faint hint of disdain in his tone. “You don’t gotta participate, though, y’know. We’ve, uh…”

“Already got five,” Keith grunts, turning away from Lance. His gaze hardens, features stiff. “I know.”

“No, no - it’s not like that, dude. I’m just saying - if you don’t wanna… uh, come back, we get it.” Says the Paladin, a somber expression taking hold of his face.

Ever since Keith has left, things have been… weird. Weird is a nice word to use, Lance thinks. What with Shiro’s yelling, Allura and Lotor’s little… _thing_ , and a new Garrison trio revolving around Matt, Pidge, and Hunk, he’s felt more than a little left out. Nowhere feels welcoming anymore, not after Keith’s absence. It’s all but destroyed their social structure. No one to poke fun at. No one to listen to him. Even now, he’s getting more recognition through his and Keith’s bickering than he would talking to the other Paladins.

With a huff, Keith finally sheathes his blade, giving up on training for the time being. He tilts his head around his shoulder to shoot Lance a pointed glare, muttering, “It _is_ like that, though. You don’t need to lie to my face, Lance. You don’t need me here.”

“I mean, yeah, not with that attitude!” Retorts Lance, hands firmly resting on his hips. He continues, “You can’t just come here expecting us to instantly reject you. Seriously, did all that time before mean nothing to you?”

When Keith tenses up, features twisting in a familiar look of rage, Lance knows that was just about the worst thing he could say. “Listen, Lance - I know you guys are there for me. I know your doors are open, but… you can’t expect me to jump at the opportunity to come back.” His gaze turns down, fists clenching tightly. “I’m dead weight. Besides, I don’t know - No, I can’t even _comprehend_ how you expect me to work through abandonment issues in a few months, when you’ve all clearly moved on just fine!”

“We haven’t!” Shouts back Lance, a similar look of anger taking over his features. A hand splays across his chest. “I haven’t. Nothing’s the same without you, man. Voltron might be functioning, but… no one’s talking the same. Shiro’s getting more distant, and everyone’s put all of their trust in Lotor. It’s not… normal.”

“Lotor?” Keith questions, taken aback simply by the mention of his name.

“Yeah! That chucklefuck’s moved right in, and now everyone’s totally cool with him taking control of the Galra Empire,” says Lance, shaking his head firmly.

At this, Keith looks thoughtful. He’s aware that Lotor is currently an ally, but he hasn’t had any personal experience with the Galran prince. That’s not enough to trust him - not in his book. “So, he’s just got… free reign? Why isn’t anyone questioning him?”

Outraged, Lance crows, “I _know_! I mean - _I_ am, but no one’s listening,” says the boy, frowning sullenly. “Anyways, this isn’t about Lotor - the point is… I guess I realized you were the person who, uh, really listened to me. I didn’t really notice until after you left,” he murmurs, a hand resting on the side of his neck in a sorrowful manner. “I just think that… it’s not worth it to fight, not when you’re finally back.”

A softer look washes over Keith’s eyes, dark violet gaze fluttering to the floor, before raising to settle on Lance’s features. His stance is awkward, now that his tense shoulders have loosened and lowered.

Lance continues, “Back when you were still piloting Black - when I came to your room…? I… I liked that, y’know? Talking. It was good.”

Smiling gently, a fond feeling settles into Keith’s heart. His worries aren’t totally eradicated, but Lance’s efforts certainly help. He can’t turn down the thought of trying to be better friends. Keith doesn’t want to be alone: he’s just unsure of how to reach out. So, even if he decides against staying in the Castle-ship, maybe he’ll try and reach out over their communication devices.

“Alright, Lance,” says Keith, reaching down absent-mindedly as he speaks, “Talking. We can do that. But can _you_ ,” begins Keith, a challenging look in his eyes. The hand that had been moving as he spoke grasps the hilt of his blade, pulling it out, and spinning it in his hand, “even _think_ about taking _me_ on?”

Seeing this, Lance forms his bayard, pulling the object from one of the light details on his cuisse. Daring, Lance counters with, “Oh, bring it on, samurai.”

»»————-　　————-««

After a good twenty doboshes pass, Lance decides it’s time to switch things up. The current score between the two is Keith: four, Lance: three. And that’s even with Lance using his rifle!

“Christ, what have the Blades been feeding you?” Says Lance, voice rough with exhaustion, breathing labored. Keith, who seems to be just as tired, only grins victoriously. “Raw eggs and steel,” says the boy.

“Doth my ears deceive? Is mullet-head cracking a _joke_? Yeah, they’ve really been messing with you.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith graces Lance with an amused smile, murmuring, “They haven’t done _anything_ to me, Lance. Seriously, can’t you do better than that?”

“Uh, Hell _yeah_ I can! Watch _this_ ,” says Lance, eyes nearly sparkling with pride. He thrusts his bayard in front of him, staring expectantly at it. At this, Keith raises a curious eyebrow.

What was… he doing?

“Watch _what_?”

A few heavy ticks follow. Lance eventually lowers his bayard, glancing at it in confusion, leaving the both of them with disappointed expressions. “Yeah, well, I _was_ planning to show you this really cool thing-uh-muh-jig, but it just hasn’t been… working lately? Shoot, maybe it’s one of those heat of the moment things. You mind like, charging at me? Or something?”

“Definitely not a problem with that,” says Keith, smoothly, looking a little amused at the prospect. Sword in hand, he surges forwards, rushing Lance. He’s harsh on the offensive, parrying and thrusting. Lance is left to defend himself with his rifle, yelping with each moment that Keith comes too close to nicking him.

Within a few doboshes, Lance finally manages to form the Altean broadsword he’s grown so proud of, stunning Keith into silence, and leaving him open to an attack. To put it nicely, he knocks Keith flat on his ass. Keith: four, Lance: four. Stalemate.

“Kitty got your tongue, Keith?” Jeers Lance, a look of both jest and pride on his face.

Face twisting into a glower, Keith retorts, “Isn’t it, “Cat got your tongue”?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Toh-may-to, to-mah-to. Kitty, cat. Same difference.” He offers Keith a hand, who is currently clenching his jaw, seeming to be rather pissy over the fact that Lance has successfully settled their score. “C’mon,” says Lance, offering Keith an upturned hand, of which he reluctantly takes. With a hard flex of his arm, he aids the Blade in standing, patting him on the shoulder once he’s back on his feet. “So, what do you think? Pretty awesome, huh?”

“Yeah. Pretty neat, Lance,” says Keith, a delusory look of fondness splayed across his features. It quickly switches to one of genuine curiosity, head cocking to the side. Lance thinks he looks a little too cat-like with that gesture. “How’d you even manage that, anyways?”

The Red Paladin only gives a half-hearted shrug in response, providing an unhelpful, “Like I said. Heat of the moment thing, I guess.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement, furrowing his brows, before returning his shrug. Sometimes these things can’t always be explained. Summoning and switching forms of their bayards weighed more upon willpower over technicalities.

Pausing any further form of dialogue, Keith looks down to Lance’s feet, before dragging his gaze up Lance’s frame.

“Keith?” Questions Lance, a hint of uncomfortability in his tone.

The Blade deadpans, “You’re holding it _totally_ wrong, Lance.”

“Woah, what? I’m holding it just fine! Look, it’s…” Lance bites his tongue, looking at Keith with a raised eyebrow. “Alright, alright, Mr. Swordsman, _maybe_ I’m holding it wrong. You just gonna jab at me, or are you gonna teach me?”

Keith only cracks a smirk at that, before slipping his dagger into the sheath located on the back of his belt. Lance briefly wonders why he’s in uniform, before assuming that there are no doubt few times where he needs to take of the suit. Funny that he’d keep the belt, though. It’s an obvious marker of who he is. "Show me your fighting stance - your serious one,” demands Keith, gesturing a hand towards Lance.

On his command, Lance awkwardly spreads his feet a few inches, raising his hands in tight fists. His elbows stick out too far, making him look rather like he’s gearing to break into the Chicken Dance. On top of this, his feet were angled… rather oddly.

“I took karate once in preschool, and I don’t remember anything,” the Paladin admits, seeing Keith’s scrutinizing glare, and quickly switching his grip on the broadsword.

"I can tell," snorts Keith, curving his eyebrows up. He looks somewhat amused by Lance's attempt at a fighting stance. How had they survived all this time? "Make sure your feet are out shoulder-length, planted firmly, and are pointed towards your target; me. Square your arms a little more, elbows towards me." He imitates the mentioned pose, bending his knees just slightly. "You don't want to drop down so low - leaves you unable to move easily. Try adjusting it."

Lance shuffles his feet closer together, and straightens up a little. He pulls his elbows closer to his sides, back ramrod straight. Looking at the Blade, he regretfully admits, “I feel… uh... stupid.” His somewhat thin arms and odd pose seemed rather passive, and his entire body looked awkwardly stiff.

"Loosen up a little," Keith suggests, giving him a gentle, patient little smile. "You don't look stupid, though. The key to a fighting stance is being able to move, and being able to hold your ground. Just because you're inexperienced doesn't mean you can't pack a punch. Ready to give it a shot?" He raises an eyebrow curiously, seeming to offer him a friendly dare. The young man was trying to motivate him as best as he could, though he wasn’t known to be much of a wordsmith.

Grinning wide, Lance nods. “You betcha,” he says, before lunging forwards with a triumphant cry. Keith blocks his blow with a swift move of his sword, metal grating against mental. He heaves a soft sigh at his attempt.

"Hang on, hang on. You're going to hurt your hand," mutters Keith, giving the teen a small frown, lips pouted downwards. Patience yields focus, right? Maybe he could pass down some of his experiences to Lance. At the least, he could show him some basic moves. "If you have your hands like that, you're going to break your fingers. Thumb outside, wrist tilted down - aim with the end of your sword, not your hands. And… keep your elbow level to your head," says Keith, nudging Lance’s sword out of the way. His hands instantly move to cover Lance’s, intricately adjusting his fingers on the hilt of the sword.

“Chin down, and jab. Don't throw all of your weight into it. Just tense your muscles a little and throw it," the ex-Paladin finishes, stepping back and nodding to the boy. "Try again.”

So Lance does. He tries again, and again, and again, until his wrists cramp and his shoulders ache. Despite the fact that the rest of the team has since entered, they keep going at it: no one dares to interrupt them, not when they’re sharing such a rare moment of amicability.

»»————-　　————-««

“I’m _literally_ starving,” groans Pidge, leaned against the wall of the training room, a package of water clasped in her hand. Hunk figures it’s about to break.

“You’re figuratively starving,” says Hunk, laughing lightheartedly. Hearing those words, Pidge twists her face up into a stern pout.

“Actually, people have been using literally as a hyperbolic intensifier for centuries, Hunk. Mark Twain, Charles Dickens… you get the jist.”

Sighing, Hunk pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders sagging. “Not ready for a nerd-out sesh, Pidge. I’m sweaty. And also hungry. Can we please call a break?” He says, glancing over to Shiro with a hopeful expression.

To their relief, Shiro replies with a gentle chuckle and a nod. “Yeah, alright. Snack break: we’ve been at it longer than usual.” A chorus of cheers follows his words, and in a flash, Pidge and Hunk are bolting out the doors, followed closely by Lance on their heels. He hesitates a moment, though, turning around to face Keith.

“You coming, grumpy-pants?” Questions the boy, lips pursed in an inquisitive expression. Keith takes a moment to think, placing a hand over his stomach. Yeah, he’s gone way too long without food. Best to get something in his system. He gives a quick nod, eliciting a response from Lance: “Cool.”

Thus, the four make their way down the hallway, leaving Allura and Shiro to quietly discuss future missions, as neither of the two seeming to be hungry.  
  
Apparently, however, leaving a Galra alone for multiple hours _isn’t_ the smartest idea. Krolia was bound to wander, finding the unfamiliar scents scattered about the castle much too hard to follow. She settles on meandering the strange hallways, aimlessly exploring. All she manages to find before hunger becomes an issue is an odd looking body of water, the medical wing, and finally, the galley, where she begins to search.

Surely the Paladins would not mind providing their guests with food, no? Krolia rummages about the kitchen, heavily avoiding a dispenser that smelled eerily of emergency rationings: otherwise known as.... _food goo_. She shudders at the thought. No, surely there was something else.

Eventually, she successfully locates an icebox, pulling the door of it open, and searching inside. There’s a myriad of food items to choose from inside, to her relief. Krolia won’t regard herself as picky, but she greatly despises both the texture and taste of the gooey substance.

Still, she can’t help but feel guilty when she grabs an unlabeled jar, guiltily glancing towards either side of the kitchen before uncapping it.

A tentative sniff deems it as safe, and as such, she begins eating the food with her fingers, unable to locate anything that looks like a proper utensil.

“Anyways,” a voice breaks the silence. Krolia lifts her head, turning around to set her panicked eyes onto the doorway of the galley. Someone was coming. “We’ve definitely upgraded since you were last here. Apparently, there’s some sort of cooperation with these little space supermarkets set up in every quadrant. You wouldn’t _believe_ how close they get to the food at home!” Crows Lance, walking backwards into the kitchen. He jabs a thumbs towards Krolia, ignorant to the fact that she’s even there.

“Uh, Keith…?” Mutters Hunk, who leads the rest of the group after Lance. They freeze when they set their gaze upon Krolia. She's hunched over the unlabled canister, bright yellow eyes sharply trained on the group. The Yellow Paladin continues, “Is your mom eating... _mayonnaise_? In the _dark_?”

Pidge gags audibly at this, covering her mouth with a hand. “Snack-time is cancelled. I think I’m gonna barf.”  
  
»»————-　　————-««


End file.
